


bartering under duress.

by DictionaryWrites



Series: The Dashing Collected [2]
Category: Marvel
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Dynamics, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 02:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15378708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: Fandral tries to evoke what reaction he can, but the Collector is difficult to move.





	bartering under duress.

“You look handsome today,” Fandral says on the sixth morning of his imprisonment, for the sixth morning in a row. For the first time, Tivan actually reacts, turning his head slightly and looking Fandral in the eye. Stepping forward, he moves to look into Fandral’s tank, which is sparsely decorated. He has a small cot in the corner, and a light table with a lamp he can turn on and that he can turn off, and that will darken the outside glass too, but nothing else. Other exhibits have more furniture, have furniture that matches the décor of their home planets, but Fandral has only been here but a week.

Tivan watches Fandral, a distant amusement on his features. “You… are consistent.”

“Yes,” Fandral agrees. He comes right up to the glass, so that he and Tivan are in line with one another: Tivan is taller than Fandral by a few inches, and Fandral rather _likes_ that. He presses his chest up to the glass, slides his hand over its thickness. “May I ask you for something?”

Tivan’s eyebrows raise, and his lips quirk up at their edges in amusement. “Mmm, and what you could you… Possibly _ask_ me for?”

“Some paper,” Fandral says. “And a pen.” Tivan furrows his brow.

“You wouldn’t… Want a _quill?”_ Fandral smiles.

“Do you have one?”

“No.” Fandral doesn’t let the smile drop from his face, and instead lets his eyes become more _sultry_.

“I’m content to convince you, you know.”

“Are you,” Tivan murmurs, his tone dripping with condescension: it isn’t really a question.

Fandral’s hand slides from his hip up the length of his chest, moving up toward the lacing of his tunic. Tivan’s assistant – a young Grafalan man named Efo – had dressed Fandral in some light green breeches and a white blouse, some leather boots… But Fandral isn’t shy. He drags his right hand over the lacing, pulling it undone, and then his hand moves lower again, playing at the hem of his blouse.

Tivan, expectant, takes a slow step back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go _on_ , then.” Fandral inhales, slowly, and he drags the blouse up and over his chest, dropping it back onto the little cot, and then he begins to unlace his breeches.

“It must get lonely,” Fandral murmurs. “Being here, all alone… Your shoulders seem so _stiff_ , Collector. I’d be happy to give you a massage, you know.” Tivan ignores him, his dark eyes sliding slowly over the light dusting of golden hair on Fandral’s chest, and then lower, where slightly darker blond hair drags down toward his groin.

He slides his breeches down over his waist, over his thighs, and he sits back on the edge of his cot. Others in the collection are watching him, Fandral can see – he can feel their eyes, feel their indignation that he should embrace his captivity so _easily_ …

Fandral wraps a hand around his cock, and he groans softly. Tivan watches him, taking in the sight of him, and then his gaze settles on Fandral’s cock, watching as Fandral slowly works himself to hardness, playing his fingers over the length of his prick and then playing them over his head. He can feel the blood rush downward, feel himself grow hot and aroused, at the intensity of Tivan’s stare, at the way he _examines_ Fandral. Fandral is a specimen to him, a curiosity.

That’s rather exciting.

Fandral lets out a low moan, tipping his hips up and into his palm, dragging his thumb over his cockhead. A small burst of precome spurts over his hand, his thighs parting wider, and he arches his back, his head tipping back. “Oh, _Collector_ — I wish you were in here with me.”

“Do you?” Tivan smiles, and he brings a finger up to his lip, tapping against the lower one. Fandral looks at it, looks at his black-painted fingernails, and then the tip of Tivan’s tongue flicks over his finger, and Fandral whimpers. “You don’t wish… That you were out here, with me?”

“What, so you can worry about me _escaping_?” Fandral replies, and he twists his hand, feeling his cock twitch in his palm. “No, I want you here with me. Want to feel you in my mouth, on my tongue… Inside me.”

“Honeyed words,” Tivan murmurs. “Come, then. I haven’t got _all day_.” Fandral keeps his gaze as he drags his hand over himself, letting himself reach completion – he groans low in his throat as his purse draws up and come spatters over his belly, over his palm, Tivan taking in the process with a hungry gaze. “Mmm. Charming.”

“The paper?” Fandral asks.

“What paper?” Tivan replies, and he turns to walk away.

Groaning, Fandral tips to his side onto the bed, and he uses his blouse to wipe himself clean, discarding it against the side of the cage. Tivan will melt, in the end. He’ll _have_ to.

\--

“You look handsome today,” Fandral says, for the seventh morning in a row. Tivan smiles, and passes him by.

Tomorrow, then.

Tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> [Hit me up on Tumblr](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/faq). Requests always open.


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